The Conversation
by twiniitowers
Summary: Two young women meet in a bar and discover their common ground. One-Shot. Complete.


_**Author's Note: If you don't want to be spoiled on my** **Why Me? A Damien: Omen II** **Story**_ **then please wait until that story is complete before starting this one. If you don't mind the spoilers, read on and enjoy. And a friendly little reminder to stay tuned for the new _Damien_ series starring Bradley James airing soon on A &E.**

 **Trigger warning: Self-harm**

 _ **The Conversation**_

 **New York City, NY**

 **June 1981**

She drank to numb herself.

What had she done? Not enough. She had not done enough. Why did she run away and not make certain that he came with her? The heavy metal band with punk undertones played in the background, but all she heard was one big loud, thumping sound. It sounded like gale force winds that swirled and hammered around in a tunnel.

Every day she stumbled out of bed, took a quick no soap shower, and staggered across the street to the bar. She had no job to speak of and her savings account from her trust fund was dwindling. If her lot in life was to be homeless that was not punishment enough.

Why did she run? At least the twenty-four news cycle had moved on to other stories when this became "old forgotten news".

She may not have literally killed him, but she felt that she was responsible in-part for his death. When she went to the police two years ago to turn herself in they basically laughed at her and shooed her away as if she were certifiable, like the dirty guy on the corner who wore a coat no matter what the temperature and sold pencils from an tin cup. They didn't get it.

Her instincts told her to run and she left him in danger's path without so much as saying goodbye or writing a note.

They were not each other's great love, but she still loved him as a person. She was the rebound that never really was. The one time that they had sex was good, but she knew he never loved her in that way.

He wasn't supposed to lose his virginity _with her_.

She didn't notice the female lead singer in front of her, trying to order whatever beer was on tap.

"I'm sorry," The woman with the spiked black hair apologized for being in the other woman's space, "I'm just trying to get SOME SERVICE HERE." She hollered to the bartender to get his attention.

"m-y f-fault…."

"Excuse me?"

"You'll have to excuse her," The bartender began as he slid the glass down for her for her to intercept, "She's crazy."

What a terrible thing to say. It was obvious that the woman needed help. She was supposed to go to a party tonight, but she ignored her bandmates, one of which was her boyfriend, and sat at the bar next to the 'crazy lady'.

"m-my f-ault. I'm an a-ccess-ory….oh…I le-t-t h-h-h-im d-d-ie."

"Do you need a place to stay?"

"N—no. I – l-ive – ac-ross – th-e – st—reet."

She handed the singer a crumpled up piece of notebook paper that she kept in her pocket. She had hundreds of copies, she gave them to the police, they did not care. She sent them to the media, not one response.

No one cared. After all it was the crazy person.

The singer almost lost her cool composure. She knew the writing. She knew the name. But these were NOT her words. "What? This letter is complete bullshit. Who really wrote this?"

"I have my su-s-pici – ons…"

They were only in each other's lives for a few months. The square and the rock star.

… _While I was away at school, I met someone else while I was in New York City…_

… _I didn't want to hurt you, which is why, I kept my promise to visit…but I could not look into your eyes and tell you the truth…_

 _..that is why I ran out of Damien's party…_

… _I will always love you, Mark. But it is time for me to move on, Love, Vanessa…._

She did NOT meet another man in New York City. She only loved her boyfriend Mark that she was separated from due to the girls parental interference. These were not Vanessa Greenhill's words. She wanted to be with her boyfriend, graduate high school, and get married. She wanted to have that fairytale existence, with two kids, a cozy house surrounded by a white picket fence. This letter may have been written BY Vanessa, but the words were someone else's.

"You are not responsible for Mark Thorn's death."

But the woman was already passed out from yet another drunken stupor.

Hannah Montgomery would never forget seeing those horrible images on the news. The reports were that Mark Thorn died of a brain aneurysm and Vanessa was shot in the head after being held hostage for months, but yet she was never reported missing. But that went unreported because the mainstream media always sucked and never went after the real story.

She wrote a song about her friend's demise, but she never shared it with her band.

Today the rock star, who said goodbye to her old life once she graduated from her uppity boarding school last year and the rebound girl finally met each other. Their paths crossed for a reason.

"Please take this girl with you…I'm sick of doing it." The bartender whined.

"What a douchebag."

"I'm taking this chick, home. You guys can go to the party without me." Hannah didn't even turn her head around to see their reactions.

* * *

 **Ten Minutes Later**

Hannah did not need any assistance, but for how tiny this woman was, about 5'3" and 110 pounds, she was hefty. The woman was in and out of thought. Hannah figured now might be the time to ask one important question.

"What's your name?"

"T-r-…" She drooled on Hannah's shoulder.

"I'll figure it out."

It was a small apartment with only four mailboxes, two on each side of the door.

"I hope you are on the first level or that there is an elevator."

There was only one 'T' selection: T Young.

She could feel T. Young wipe her nose on her shirt.

"I have to go into your pockets, to find your keys."

She found the keys in her side jeans pocket. Her keys were attached to a gold-plated 'T' initial key ring. There was also a keychain with the Thorn globe and a cross depicting Jesus' crucifixion.

Hannah sighed heavily. It was not the time to worry about anyone's religious beliefs or the lack of her own.

She was able to open the door and T. Young tried to stand up on her own. "Ap – A."

"Apartment A? I'll get you inside."

* * *

This place was a complete mess. The unopened mail was piled up on the entry table. The coffee table was cluttered with notebook papers and magazines. The whole apartment had a musty smell.

T. Young was curled up on the black leather sofa as Hannah took it upon herself to go into the kitchen and try to find some instant coffee.

There were two newspaper obituaries on the refrigerator held up by a two frog magnets.

 **Mark Thorn and Vanessa Greenhill**

The girl who tried to keep her emotions private had to hold back the tears as she looked at their black and white high school photographs. Him in his military school uniform and her in her Catholic school one.

She found a small canister of instant coffee in the cupboard with the missing handle and two small cracked white mugs next to it. This whole situation had encompassed T. Young's life to the point of her not having one.

Hannah turned on the sink and the water made a loud swoosh that almost made her jump out of her skin. At least the water ran clear. Now all the microwave had to do was heat the coffee.

* * *

When Hannah returned in the living room with what had to be the world's worst microwaved cup of coffee. T. Young was in the sitting position, with her head down, and rubbing her head.

"I can't promise that it will taste good."

"I'm e—mbar…." She stammered.

"Don't be. I think I should tell you my name. I'm Hannah Montgomery and I briefly went to school with Vanessa. Not too far from here."

That verbal admission caused T. Young to be more alert than from the one sip of coffee that she took.

"Sh—e ….."

"You don't have to talk right now. I'll stay with you for a while. I'd really like to talk to you when you sober up. I'm going to use your bathroom, okay? After you feel up to it, we'll talk in the kitchen."

It was better for T. Young to be sitting at the table than to be curled up on the sofa in the fetal position.

"o—k."

People's paths always cross for a reason.

* * *

 **30 Minutes Later**

"I'm so ashamed," T. Young and Hannah were in the kitchen at the square table finishing their coffee and eating stale vanilla wafers as there wasn't much food in the apartment, "I'm Tracey Young…and I'm alcoholic."

"I'm not going to judge you. Although, I think you do need help. I wish we met under better circumstances. But I have to tell you—please, stop doing this self-blame. You are not responsible for what happened to Mark."

"When he received that letter, Hannah, I made a copy for myself and then I did a real shitty thing. I ran away. I was normal for a while. I was going to take a summer class at Loyola. Then on the first day, I remember being in the student lounge, when the news broke, and I ran as far away as I could go. My life ended that day."

Hannah felt sorry for Tracey carrying around these burdens that were not hers. That's what organized religion did to a person and that was why she didn't believe in an invisible man in the sky.

"How terrible. In the bar you told me that you had your suspicions on the letter Vanessa wrote."

"Hannah, you are too nice. I really want to thank you for helping me and making sure I got home safely. You should go home, go back to your band, be a rock star, and make lots of money. You don't need to know any more. "

"No, Tracey, I really want to know." Actually she needed to know and that scared her.

"That letter may have been written by Vanessa, on her stationery, and the original even smelled like her perfume, but she DID NOT write that letter on her own. She was forced to."

"Who do you think forced her?"

Tracey turned around, frightened that someone was in the shadows with a machine gun ready to kill her and Hannah from ever getting to the bottom of this mystery.

Her hands shook as she brought the cup to her mouth to finish the now cold coffee.

"It's okay, Tracey, you can trust me." Hannah put her hand on top of Tracey's to show support for her new friend.

"Damien…Mark's cousin, Damien Thorn."

* * *

 **2 Months Later**

Hannah and her band had just finished their two-month-trek in the Greater Tri-State Area. Her friend Tracey promised her on that humid June evening that she was going to go to a rehab center and then maybe they could piece together what really happened between Mark and Vanessa, if only for Tracey's peace of mind and to satisfy Hannah's curiosity.

Damien was the only Thorn survivor and Hannah thought that, that had to be more than a coincidence. If he was responsible for all of this, he could not have done it alone. Hannah promised Tracey once her tour was over, she would help her figure this all out.

She was walking with her drummer boyfriend not far from Tracey's apartment when there was a large crowd, looking up at the young woman on the roof and screaming , "Jump! Jump!"

No. Please don't let it be…

Hannah could NOT believe the audacity of some people, even her own boyfriend, who knew who Tracey was and he still seemed bothered, because getting some new record albums were more important than her suicidal friend.

How would they feel if it was their family member or friend? She forced herself to the front of the crowd. Was an ambulance or fire department on their way with a net?

"Tracey, please don't!" She shouted, hoping it was her voice that would break through to reach her and not these jerks who thought someone jumping to their death was a great way to break the afternoon monotony.

Before she could even think of running upstairs to her apartment and to the roof to stop her, her troubled new friend took the leap.

"NO!" Hannah covered her eyes. "NO!"

"She was cuckoo, Babe."

Hannah turned around and pushed her boyfriend off the curb, "Fuck you, Keith! It's OVER! The band is over and so are we!"

She ignored the bitch word being bandied about as she tried to remain focused.

Hannah wondered if it was now her turn to carry this weight? She went on tour and wasn't there for Tracey. She had no idea that her friend was suicidal. She wasn't there for her, when she probably needed a daily friend to remind her that life would be okay and to count the days without the booze. What happened in those two months?

Her dead body was like a pretzel. She was twisted and covered with blood.

"I'll find out the answers for you, Tracey." Hannah stated out-loud. She herself might up dead, but there was more here than met the eye.

The only thing Hannah knew about Damien was that he was at University in England. She was going to get to the solution one way or another…for Mark, for Vanessa, for Tracey, and for herself.

She heard the sirens in the distance. None of these people were able to die with any kind of dignity. It was so fucking tragic. The only thing that mattered was to find out were the elusive whys.

Hannah Montgomery waited until the EMT's put Tracey's corpse in a body bag before turning around and walking to the nearest subway stop to go home to her lonely apartment.

If she pursued this matter further, she knew deep down in heart, that it was the beginning of her end and she accepted it.

She wasn't afraid of the darkness, only the light.

 _ **Author's Note 2: Some portions of this may change when I get to putting references in both**_ _ **Why Me**_ _ **and**_ _ **Damien's Daughter**_ _ **.**_


End file.
